


Bronze, Silver, Gold

by HermitGrey



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Self-Insert, The Dance of the Dragons | Aegon II Targaryen v. Rhaenyra Targaryen Era, oc-insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24601945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermitGrey/pseuds/HermitGrey
Summary: An unusually capricious and deceitful girl from 21st century earth dies, and wakes up a royal infant in Westeros during the reign of Viserys I. But something is off. Changes have already been made, and it's clear that she isn't the first to reincarnate into this world.
Relationships: Daemon Targaryen/Laena Velaryon, Joffrey Lonmouth/Laenor Velaryon, Rhaenyra Targaryen/Laenor Velaryon
Comments: 45
Kudos: 83





	1. Valaena I: Yet Another Isekai

**2020 CE**

The accident had been a hell of a shock. Car crashes always are, sudden and intense as they're wont to be, but this had been in a league of its own. A sudden deceleration from forty miles an hour to none was brutal enough. To hit a concrete wall at eighty-five? Well, at least I didn't suffer too much, I suppose. Not my fault at all, I'd protest, were there anyone to listen. The car was a piece of shit since I'd bought it- though for such a low price, that was inevitable. For it to spin out suddenly, however, was not something I'd even mildly expected. Shame. Just a few months after I'd mostly gotten over my fear of the highway.

People often imagine death to consist of solely the consciousness, floating in darkness. That's not entirely inaccurate. Consciousness was maybe too strong a word, however. It's not as though I was capable of stringing together complicated thoughts. Mostly I was just concentrated on how I felt. Slightly cold and empty. I lacked the ability to examine the situation in more detail.

Eventually though, true consciousness returned. Like driving along the road, and the radio becomes less and less static, and more clear. Maybe scratch that metaphor. Don't really like thinking about driving.

When I really came to, I was placed amidst layers of blankets, with wooden walls rising all around me. It didn't take me long to notice that I was now an infant.

' _Not again'_ was my first truly coherent thought in this new body.

**115 AC**

The days came and went, and I was only truly aware during maybe a tenth of them. Thank god. Otherwise, I've no doubt I'd have gone insane well before the first year elapsed. There was a still a risk of that, truthfully.

I discovered the less advanced state of technology early on. The stone walls and windows without glass were a clear hint I was living in a castle. That made it rather evident I wasn't a linear reincarnation, but that just made me even more depressed. Who'd want to live through the medieval period?

It also rankled at me that I no longer had a phone. I'd grown so used to being able to reach into my pockets and pull one out. It was a major part of passing the time when I got bored, and I was more bored now then I'd ever been before. But obviously an infant wouldn't get a phone, even if the state of technological advancement _was_ sufficient to provide one.

It took me much longer to realise the entire truth of my new life. An embarrassingly long time, to be honest. The day where it finally set in began when a young blonde woman walked into my room, peering into the cot.

Streaks of white lined her hair, in spite of her youthful face, and her eyes were such a deep indigo they seemed almost violet. Extraordinarily high cheekbones sat beside a nose and above a chin, both of which would be best described as 'delicate', and her eyes were soft. She was very classically attractive. I hated it, and I groaned at her to show my disapproval.

I'd seen her before, on a few occasions. I was still missing most of my days, so she must have been visiting a lot. Probably almost as often as the nurse who took care of me. I was still rather disoriented and confused, so I'd yet to put the obvious together, but she handled that part for me.

She leaned over my cot, looking at me for a long period. Just staring. I stared right back, of course. Not like I had anything else to do. But eventually, she spoke.

"Grump all you like. There's a lot resting on your shoulders, little one." Her tone was rather light, in spite of her solemn words. She sounded a bit teasing. It still had me concerned. What had I gotten into?

"They're all waiting, you know? So do try not to cry too loud."

Two men walked in, moving to stand beside her as she said that. One was young, thin and tall, with absurdly fine features. The other was shorter, though not quite so much as the woman, and _noticeably_ more overweight than either. His face held more wrinkles than theirs, as well as a moustache. A man likely in his his forties or fifties, whereas the other seemed perhaps in his early twenties. Both had snow white hair and seemingly purple eyes.

"Oh, are you talking to her? An important discussion, no doubt." The thinner man joked.

The girthier one ignored the both of them, and put a hand into my cot. He held it a bit above me, wiggling his fingers around. Was he hoping for me to bat them about?

I gave him my harshest glower, and the three of them laughed.

"You're so cold, it hurts your dear grandpapa's heart." The stout old man chuckled, withdrawing his hand. Mentally, I seized onto the information. The fat man was my new grandfather. Was the other white haired one his son and my father then? And the blonde was likely my mother.

"Just now a month old, and already fiercer than the rest of us." The thin man added.

"Indeed. That was what our discussion was in regards to. I impressed upon her the seriousness of the situation, and it would appear she's taken my words to heart." The woman said with exaggerated pomp.

"Ah, of course. About that." The younger man said. "Is she ready to present?"

"She hardly has a gown to wear, if that's what you're asking."

"Fair enough. I suppose a better question is, are _we_ ready to present her?"

My new grandfather laughed, a boisterous sound that filled the room. The only thing I could think of as I looked at him was a bargain value Santa Claus.

"We must be, Ser! The courtiers have all been called, and they'll whinge on for ages should we cancel now."

Courtiers? Royalty, then. Thank god, if I had to live life as a peasant, I'd just kill myself. Maybe I'd get to roll the dice on a second reincarnation. If they were royalty, then it was no wonder the woman had been making such a big deal of things.

The fat man called the thin man Ser, though. Too formal a form of address. Not his son? A random knight? No, they looked too alike, in spite of the weight difference.

"Well!" The woman clapped her hands together. "Time and tide wait for no man, nor do they wait for babes. Let's not keep them all."

She reached down, scooping me up into her arms in one swift motion. The sudden movement made me a rather dizzy, but I bore it without vocal complaint.

The older man laughed aloud.

"You truly are new to this, eh?" He said. "If I had tried that with you when you were a babe, you'd bawl to the heavens."

"Ah, well… I suppose I'm still learning." She responded in a subdued tone. She glanced at me sheepishly, and I let my glare speak to my discontent.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man in a full suit of armour, with a flash of white around him, but the woman began walking, and I swiftly lost sight of him.

The walk through the halls was uneventful, save for how unusually long it took for us to reach our destination. The place was labyrinthine. At one point, we crossed a drawbridge, walked outside for a several minutes, and then walked back into yet another tower with seemingly endless halls.

I'd never been in so large a complex before. At least the time was passed by my supposed grandfather, who laughed and joked about seemingly everything he could think of.

The woman was the only who could keep up with his humour. In contrast, the younger man seemed a bit out of his element, his own attempts at jokes being much more awkward. He spoke more than the knight following us, whom I still couldn't see. But I knew the man was with us from how my grandfather occasionally tried to pull him into the conversation.

The trek ended when we came into an immense room. From wall to wall, it was more than twice the size of my old home. Columns ran the length of the room, supporting the ceiling, and black flags with red three-headed dragons decorated the walls. That was when a bolt of lightning flashed through my mind, bringing with it a sort of understanding.

_Is this Game of Thrones?! The white haired men- Targaryens? Who? Aegon the Fourth was overweight, with a knighted younger brother- no, the age gap between these two men is too large. And this man is too fond of his grandchild. That'd only make sense were I a Blackfyre… can't discount that out of hand, though, can I? What else could fit? Some of Jahaerys' immense brood? Can't discount that possibility either, there's so fucking many of them I may be forgetting one who'd fit._

My thoughts paused as I looked out along the room. People filled the room, a veritable mob of finely dressed men and women, and on occasion, children. A thousand whispers and murmurs flowed from them, bouncing off the walls and knitting together to form a dull roar. But more noteworthy than the loud crowd was the throne.

It was bigger than in the show, and far more jagged. If not for my sudden realisation of where I'd found myself, I'd likely not have recognised it for what it was. Stairs of steel led up and up to the seat, sword blades pointing out at wild angles all along the way. It was a deathtrap. No wonder Maegor died on the damn thing. Next to it were two immense dragon skulls, their bones black as onyx.

"Lords and Ladies of Westeros!" My grandfather boomed out. The room fell silent, all eyes on him. At some point a crown had managed to find its way to his head without my noticing.

"We come today with joyous news. You are all no doubt aware of my daughter's pregnancy." His voice reverberated throughout the hall. So was the _woman_ his daughter? And the man unrelated? Or did they do things the Targaryen way?

"A month now after the birth, it is my honour to announce the babe is hale and hearty! My Lords and Ladies, I present to you Princess Valaena Velaryon!"

My heart jumped. For a moment, illogical as it was, I was convinced I'd been given the life of the same Valaena Velaryon who'd mothered Visenya, Aegon the First, and Rhaenys. That was a hell of a burden… but it didn't fit with the timeline at all. She'd not been born _after_ her own son conquered Westeros and built the Iron Throne, obviously. And she'd hardly been a princess. But in my hysteria, I would only realise those obvious facts later. It was, in reality, the next few hours that fixed my misconception.

After formally introducing me, I was placed in a new cot, one covered in carved dragon iconography, and what seemed like every noble in the hall came by to coo at me and talk to my new mother and father.

It was through these conversations, excruciatingly dull as they were, that I learned my parents' names.

Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon.

That wasn't right. The two of them had never had a daughter. Rhaenyra especially, despite later remarrying, never had a daughter. But it _did_ track in other ways. My grandfather was clearly a dead ringer for Viserys the First, now that I thought of him with that in mind. With Rhaenyra's mother having been an Arryn, and the early Targaryens having more gold in their hair than the later generations, it was no wonder she struck me as more blonde than tow-headed. And why Viserys called Laenor 'Ser'. He wasn't his son at all, but they resembled each other due to the frequent marriages between Houses Velaryon and Targaryen.

Everything began to make sense, with the sole exception of my own existence. Even that, I could rationalise. Perhaps I was taking the place of Jacaerys, Lucerys, or Joffrey. If one were to have the soul of someone from another universe stuffed into their body, it wasn't too unimaginable that they would also be changed into a girl. But soon, another piece of evidence surfaced, destroying that theory in its entirety.

A tall woman with silver hair and violet eyes appeared, next to a much older, muscularly built man with similar features. _More Targaryens or Velaryons._ The muscular man crossed his arms, thick hands gripping thick forearms.

The new woman looked down at me, and furrowed her brow. She glanced up at Laenor, and then back at me. _Is she noticing the brown hair?_ I wondered. I'd yet to see what I looked like, but if I was a feminised version of one of the Strong bastards, that would be the first thing one would notice.

"She… looks exactly like you, Laenor. That's… wonderful." Her tone was utterly puzzled, in spite of her polite words.

"Indeed. We all must get together at some point, and… catch up." The man added, his own face somewhat confused

"Her hair doesn't even have a touch of Rhaenyra's gold, she's totally silver..." The woman murmured, staring down at me. "How-"

"Of course, Uncle." Rhaenyra hurried to respond to the man, cutting the other woman off. "We'll all convene later for a _lengthy_ discussion." She caught the other woman's eye with that remark, and the taller, more silver haired woman had the grace to blush and avert her eyes.

"Y-yes, I can't wait to... catch up with the two of you." She stammered out.

_Rhaenyra called the man 'uncle'. Daemon, then?_

Yet another couple walked up before these two had left. A devastatingly handsome man with silver hair, a beard and more wrinkles than Daemon. A firm jaw, a proud nose, and laugh lines around the eyes made him look strong and kind. Talk about a silver fox. He was flanked by yet another tall woman, but this time with black hair. She was as devastatingly handsome as the man she was with, and I did mean handsome, rather than pretty. Both were solidly built, clearly no strangers to physical activity.

I still paid more attention to the man. God, you could break a wooden plank on that nose.

"Laena, you seem confused. What's the matt-" The absurdly attractive man said, before pausing at my cot. His face went through a number of expressions, beginning at confused and ending at understanding. The twists and turns his eyebrows and lips made were wildly entertaining to me, considering I'd been laying about with near zero external stimuli for several days now.

I couldn't help a slight giggle.

"I see." The older man said, a smile growing across his face. He turned to look at Laenor. "Does this mean you've..."

Laenor shook his head. "Never, father. This was just… what was necessary." The older man's smile fell a bit at that.

The black haired woman looked between the two, confusion in her face. No one met her eyes.

If Laenor called the man father, then he must be Corlys the Sea Snake. No doubt the black haired woman next to him was Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was.

Everything was beginning to fall into place for me. With the sole exception of why the _hell_ Laenor Velaryon suddenly decided to have a kid with his wife.

The four of them tarried just a few moments longer, exchanging pleasantries and promises to speak again before continuing on their way.

Yet more Lords and Ladies took their places, but none of them were nearly so noteworthy. I paid attention to each and every one of them all the same, desperate for some new stimulation. But eventually, the proceedings came to an end, and I was whisked back to my room.

**Three Weeks Later**

_Push it over to the side. Prop it up against the wall of the crib._ _Put your feet underneath it and push, 'til it goes over the edge._

I looked out through the bars of the crib at the dragon egg laying on the floor. Green scales, with flecks of white.

_Apologies, Rhaenyra, but I'm not settling for some hatchling._

**Four Years Later – 119 AC**

I was losing less and less of my days now. The ratio had been about 9:1 when I was an infant, but around three years old it fell to around 2:1. Now it was closer to 1:2, with me being conscious as myself more often than not.

It worked out so that, from my perspective, I'd spent a month as a one year old, then another month as a two year old, followed by three at three. If the trend continued, I'd have nine months as a four year old. That worked out to fourteen months in total. I'd lost so many days, I'd end up going through four years in a quarter of that time. Yet my mental state was still affected.

My head was still swimming as a result of how long I'd spent lacking much stimulation, and I was working my way back up to something resembling a 'normal' psyche. My behaviour could get bizarre at times, but that ended up working to my advantage. Toddlers were expected to behave like lunatics half the time. That helped keep suspicion off of me.

Asking odd questions, talking in vague terms, making odd noises for no reason… yeah, that was typical behaviour for a four year old.

Another thing that kept people from suspecting me too much was the way I acted when I _did_ lose a day. Occasionally I'd hear about it afterwards, and from what I could piece together, the personality in control when I was gone acted exactly like a normal kid.

That concerned me a little. Would I end up having split personalities into adulthood? Would I still continue to miss a day here and there in the future? Was the other me their own person, or just my brain on autopilot?

"Val." Rhaenyra walked into the room, Ser Adrian following behind her in a white cloak. Ser Joffrey was typically her sworn shield, but it seemed he was off duty at the moment. "Are you alright?"

I'd been sat, staring into space, but I snapped to at her words.

"Yeah. Bored." I responded.

She hummed a bit, and scratched at her cheek. She looked both like she was considering something, and sheepish for having considered it in the first place. Eventually, she seemed to decide, though.

"My work is done for today. It wasn't a problem for Viserys or Daemon, even if Meleys isn't as big… it should be fine. Val, how would you like to play with Mama for a little bit?"

_Where is she going with this? Her tone is weird for something as simple as 'playing'. What was that about Meleys?_

"Sure." I got up and followed her as she walked out of the room. We wandered through the halls, Ser Adrian following quietly behind us, chatting about minor things like my lessons, or my favourite and least favourite colours. Grey and orange respectively. I wish I could say I was humouring her, or building up my facade, but truthfully, I think everyone wants to talk about their favourite colours and such more often. You just don't get the opportunity when you're older.

Eventually, we passed through halls I rarely entered. By this point I was desperately curious to see what was going on, but I held my questions. Rhaenyra led me further along, 'til we left the hallway, walking out into a courtyard. A gate stood at the other end of it, with guards along it. I realised with a start that this was gate to King's Landing.

"Are we going to the city?" I asked.

"Yes. Somewhere specific, I've… got something in mind."

The guests let us through the gate. Rhaenyra led me over to a stable right outside, and we waited for the stable hand to saddle her black mare. A white stallion was also prepared for Ser Adrian. Once they'd finished, she got on first, then pulled me atop it with her, seating me in her lap. We set off at a trot.

Once we came down the hill into the city itself, I couldn't help but look around. The buildings, at least this close to castle, were all large, nicely built and well maintained. Stone was the most common construction material, but wood did make an appearance here and there. These, I presumed, were the houses of those minor nobles and wealthy merchants who would frequently appear at court, but lacked apartments within the keep itself.

We continued past them, however, and into the city proper. The nice houses gave way to uniformly wooden buildings, medium houses for some of the moderately successful merchants, storefronts and taverns. Ser Adrian went ahead, clearing the way for us, and the peasants stared as we passed.

My eyes were drawn to each new sight and sound as we rode through the streets. This was the first time I'd left the Red Keep, and I had no idea what to expect. I was being a little overwhelmed by… _everything_. In the back of my mind, I'd begun to realise that the city didn't stink half so much of shit as it'd been described to in the books. It wasn't that long after the reign of Jaehaerys, I realised. The sewers weren't so out of date yet.

Eventually we began to walk up a slope, towards a domed building atop a hill, and understanding began to sink in.

"Mama, I don't want a Dragonpit dragon, I want a big one." Rhaenyra laughed a bit at that.

"Gods willing, you won't tame a dragon 'til you're much, _much_ older. No, I'm taking you to see _my_ dragon."

I hummed a little at that. There was no denying the thrum of excitement filling my veins, but underneath it, I was a bit off put. I rather thought Rhaenyra always kept Syrax in the Red Keep. The dragon had been there when Joffrey Velaryon attempted his doomed flight, after all. But maybe that was a fluke.

There were other inconsistencies I'd noticed, though. My own existence was anomalous enough, but there had been no siblings yet. Rhaenyra had had Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey all in quick succession, so why was I an only child thus far? Harwin Strong was in the Keep, with his father Lionel and his brother Larys, but he didn't interact with Rhaenyra all that much.

And where was Ser Criston Cole? The Cargyll twins were present, as were Steffon Darklyn, Willis Fell, Lorent Marbrand, Rickard Thorne, and Adrian Redfort. I didn't know when Cole had joined the Kingsguard, so it was possible that he'd join in a few years, but I didn't _think_ that was right… no, wait! He'd been a Kingsguard before Rhaenyra was married! That was when he turned on her. So where the hell was he now?

We reached the Dragonpit, interrupting my musings. The guards opened the gate after a glance, and we dismounted our horses, though Ser Adrian remained outside.

There were five dragons inside. Sunfyre was immediately recognisable, due to his shining golden scales, and how much ado had been made about them in the books. The identities of the others was much harder for me to determine.

A light blue dragon lay curled on the ground, sleeping. It looked to be a similar size as a red beast, which glared at us as we walked in. _Meleys or Caraxes?_ I wondered. The last two were similar grey colours, but in different shades and sizes. The pale grey one was similar in size to Sunfyre, making the two of them the smallest. The largest of the lot was covered in shining silver scales.

The aforementioned large silver dragon perked up upon seeing us, and the knights of the Dragonpit rushed forth to stand beside its bindings, and looked at Rhaenyra. When she gave a curt nod, they set to unlocking its chains, and the beast stood, stretching out its argent wings.

 _So Syrax is silver?_ I'd not recalled the physical description of the dragon, save that it was a decent size. Not having any frame of reference for what was large or small, I couldn't use that information. But it was a bit odd. I'd definitely imagined Syrax as smaller than either Meleys or Caraxes, not larger. Perhaps that was my misunderstanding.

"This is my dragon, little one. Her name is Silverwing."

A bolt of shock shot through me, cold horror infusing my bones. _Silverwing? Not Syrax? These changes have been occurring since long before my birth, so what the hell is going on? If my knowledge of this world doesn't match up enough, I lose a significant advantage._

"Her last rider was an old Queen named Alysanne, Your great-great-grandmother." Rhaenyra continued talking, unaware of my inner turmoil. "Do you want to ride her?"

She turned at that, looking to me, and startled at seeing my now pallid face.

"You don't have to!" She said, before turning to mutter to herself. "Knew this was a bad idea..."

"No, I want to!" I interjected before she could change her mind. "Just got surprised."

She studied me for a moment, looking to see any hesitation in my features. "...If you're sure."

"I am."

"Alright."

As we'd talked, the pit guards had finished saddling Silverwing. We walked towards the great dragon, and just like with horse, Rhaenyra went on first, before pulling me up to sit in her lap. Due to how high the dragon was, one of the guards needed to lift me up so she could reach me.

Once I was settled, Rhaenyra gripped the reins and started twisting and pulling at them. It wasn't like with a horse, she wasn't whipping them forward. Her hand movements were precise, and she exerted pressure by pulling. The commands seemed to translate, because her argent dragon reacted.

Silverwing began walking forward towards the immense gate, already having been opened for when we entered. The lurching motions sent me from side to side, and the closest experience I had to compare it to was the beginning of a rollercoaster. We'd not picked up much speed yet, but the movements were jerky and choppy. We cleared the immense gate, and Rhaenyra laughed a little bit, her own excitement seemingly overflowing in her.

"Outside of your Aunt Laena's dragon, Silverwing is the biggest dragon with a rider." I couldn't see her face, as she was behind me, but I could hear her smile in her voice.

A thunderous sound accompanied the beating of the dragon's eponymous wings, and we began lifting into the air.

Once lifting a couple of metres of the ground, Silverwing dashed forward. The hill the Dragonpit lay on fell behind us, and the dragon caught more air. All around, people pointed, shouted, and cheered. Most seemed to be calling out 'Silverwing, Silverwing!' or 'look, a dragon!". I distinctly caught one aged voice crying out 'the Queen's dragon!'.

"If you change your mind and decide you don't want to do this, I'll set her back down. Don't be afraid to tell me." Rhaenyra murmered in my ear. As if I'd ever do such a thing.

We began our ascent into the sky, and the buildings beneath grew smaller and smaller. Once we were nearly touching a cloud, Silverwing tilted forward, and began a dive. It started out slow, but soon enough the wind was whipping my hair back, and it became hard to keep my eyes open. I let out a whoop of excitement.

_I've got to get a dragon. As soon as possible._

**One Year** **Later –** **120 AC**

The courtyard near the royal apartments was quite noisy for only hosting five people. Laughter rang throughout, as did spluttered curses, and over all of it, my aunt and uncle continually shouted recriminations, hoping for some peace. It succeeded in quieting down Rhaena, and so I stopped my own protests, but my other cousin did not seem cowed.

Baela just would not stop laughing. I was always pleased to see people enjoy my antics, but it was secondary to my own amusement, and she was going on for too long now. It was beginning to grate on everyone, judging by Daemon's twitching brow and the palm Laena hid her face in. Rhaena, especially, was put out. Really, if Baela didn't stop, her twin would just get even madder, and at _me_ no less.

Rhaena glowered out from underneath her soaked hair, alternating her glare between me and Baela. My own eyes were wide and confused, even if I was giggling as hard as my cousin on the inside.

"The two of you share a room, this prank could have gotten you just as easily as it did Rhaena." Laena said.

"But it didn't!" Baela kept giggling.

"Baela, shut your damn mouth already. You think this is funny?" Daemon bit out.

"Hah, uh, that is to say- pfft-hahahah! Yeah, but it is funny though?"

"Will you think it's so funny when you're made to dress yourself and draw your own baths?" He threatened.

 _Wow, how intimidating. You certainly showed her._ Mentally I rolled my eyes, but I made sure to outwardly maintain my look of uncertainty.

"Oh, papa, no!" Baela seemed to think it was a powerful threat though, the spoiled chit. "Val's the one that did it!"

"No I didn't!" I protested, stamping my foot, tears threatening at the corners of my eyes. I totally did it. But my character didn't, and so I could feel the anger of being falsely accused as though it were real.

"Val, tell us truly. _Honestly_ , this time. Did you place the bucket above the door?" Laena asked, in a stunningly exhausted voice. She rubbed her distended belly as she did so, as though to soothe her kid. Like it cared whether I pranked Rhaena or not.

"I didn't!" I insisted. Everyone sort of _knew_. But as long as I didn't give in, they'd be a little uncertain. "I was with Daeron at the time, ask him!"

"That doesn't prove anything, Val." A new voice sounded out from behind me. I turned to see Rhaenyra behind me, her stomach as swollen as Laena's. I swear the two were coordinating when they fucked their husbands. Or when they both fucked Daemon, depending on the rumours. _Hah! Maybe they have threeways!_

"I heard what happened. My apologies." She greeted the others, making it sound as though I actually _did_ it! The falsely accused character I was playing bristled at that, and I bristled with her. Rhaenyra turned to me.

"You could have easily placed the bucket in advance, and then went to play with Daeron to secure an alibi." She continued.

I stared at her blankly, pretending not to know what those words meant. Valaena genuinely didn't understand, and I lost myself in the character. It made my emotions far more genuine when I actually felt them, rather than displayed them as an act. Really the first rule of acting.

"What?" I asked, and my tone was a sincere one of soft bemusement.

Rhaenyra rubbed her brow, seemingly thinking of how to phrase it for a five year old.

"You could have put the bucket there and then left, right?"

I scowled. "But I _didn't_!"

"But you _could_ have. We can't be certain you didn't. After you left the bucket, you could've gone to play with Daeron so he'd back you up. But that doesn't mean you couldn't have left the bucket, because that happened before you were playing with Daeron."

"That's it! That's what she did!" Rhaeny Day screeched, shaking so hard some droplets came off. I almost cracked a grin then and there, but I held back. It was a close thing though. The best part of being an absolute terror was people's reactions.

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Silence!" Daemon roared, a vein in his temple throbbing.

Rhaena pulled back at that, casting her eyes down. My character, childish as she was, followed suit, but the real me bubbled to the surface with a hot rage.

"Silence yourself!" I spat back, barely maintaining enough of a grip on the character to keep my speech from becoming too adult. _I will be your Queen, wretch._

He jumped to his feet at that, glaring down at me.

"I didn't put the stupid bucket over Rhaeny Day's door, but I wish I did!" My mother leaned back at that, wearing a look of surprise, and Laena followed suit. Daemon didn't listen though.

"Do you think because you're a child I won't strike you? I am your elder. Don't _ever_ raise your voice to me." Daemon hissed out, his tone dangerously even. I knew him enough to know he wasn't making an idle threat. I also didn't care.

"Don't ever raise _your_ voice to _me_!" I shouted. "Or I _will_ pull a prank, and you'll wake up with wasps in your bed!"

Laena paled at that, fully aware that I would follow through just as surely as Daemon, and that she happened to share a bed with him.

His cheeks just reddened though, and he pulled his arm up, ready to send a backhand into my face.

"Daemon!" My mother shouted, her tone fraught with rage. "What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?!"

He had the grace to look a bit abashed, and his hand slowly lowered.

"A-apologies, Rhaenyra. I got a bit too… well." Daemon cleared his throat.

"Don't apologise to _me_." She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. Daemon looked around, trying to find a way out. His wife offered no support, however. She merely added her glare to the pressure on him.

Eventually, he managed to glance my way, though he had to look away soon after.

"I-I… ah, dammit all. Sorry about that, Val. I shouldn't… get so worked up."

"Val? You provoked him. What do you say?" Rhaenyra asked. Did she expect _me_ to apologise?

I sighed, and ran a hand through my hair. All of my annoyance and wounded pride ebbed, and I was left with regret that it had gotten this far. Regret, and determination. Determination not to back down.

"Uncle Daemon… I don't want you to say sorry." He watched me with confusion filling his features. "I'm gonna be Queen. Never, _ever_ tell me what to do."

His face coloured red, and Rhaenyra snapped out a reprimand at me that went unheard amidst the sudden panic. Baela sucked in a hard breath, and Laena whispered out an 'oh gods'. Even Rhaeny Day, soaking wet and mad at me, stammered out a plea for her father to 'spare' me, idiot that she was. Daemon drew himself up, squaring his shoulders yet again in his fury.

"Either say you'll never do it again, or hit me. Don't say sorry, 'cause I won't."

His backhand was not a surprise. What did surprise me was that I actually rose a few inches into the air. I fell back to the ground, sprawling out onto my side. A harsh throb filled the side of my face, and my mouth felt weirdly full.

 _Something hard? And liquid?_ I wondered in a mild daze. _Oh. A tooth. And blood._

He stared down at me, face frozen in shock and worry.

"Val, I didn't- shit, I'm _so_ sorry, I shouldn't have-" I spat the contents of my mouth onto his shoes, discolouring the fine material.

"I don't want you to say sorry. 'Cause I _won't_." I glared back at him, but the words came out as a mumble. Hard to keep a glare levelled on him, though. My eyes were kinda swimmin'.

"Dammit Valaena!" My mother scooped me up into her arms. Probably for the best, I didn't think I could stand at the moment. "Why the hell are you so prideful?! You can't even fucking say sorry for provoking him?!"

"It's my fault-" Daemon tried to interject, before Rhaenyra turned her scowl to him

"Fucking right it is! She's a kid! You're the oldest person here, learn some goddamn control! Rhaena and Baela are _four_ and they're acting more mature than you!"

He rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing down at the ground. He didn't dispute her remarks.

 _When stressed, she refers to a single hell, and a single god. More proof, eh?_ My mind was somewhere else entirely.

The crown princess walked off with me in her arms.

"Are you alright? We'll go see Gerardys." Rhaenyra said, worry tinting her voice.

"'M fine." I slurred.

"No, you're not. Maybe a concussion?" She said the last part to herself.

I ignored her as she fussed over me, and glanced out a window. The view over the courtyard showed Laena and Daemon both rubbing their faces into their hands, as their daughters watched on awkwardly. The prank with the bucket was completely forgotten by everyone.

I grinned a little despite myself. The _second_ best part of being an absolute terror was getting away with it.


	2. Valaena II: Appearance of Viserion

**120 AC**

Laena's pregnancy had been a tough one. It wasn't too shocking for anyone when her kid was stillborn. What was a bit unusual, rather at odds with canon, was that she herself lived. This, I knew, was entirely due to the new order of nurses that Rhaenyra had propagated. Women taught by midwives and maesters so as to become proficient in delivering children and rendering minor medical aid, and taught certain 'experimental' techniques. Such as hand-washing. Effectively, the nurses were more skilled midwives.

That was definitely a new development. I hadn't noticed them before, so what other things had changed without my knowledge? What else was I missing?

Laena's survival put a wrench in my plans, though even _I_ wasn't so gauche as to wish for her death. The same could not be said for Aemond, who spent the next couple of days sulking. The fool didn't even realise how close he'd come to his own death. I'd _planned_ to ride Vhagar quietly, and then put the great dragon back without telling anyone. Aemond would attempt to ride the beast, of course, but with Vhagar already having a rider, he'd be roasted the moment he made the attempt.

Kinslaying was off limits in this world, for the fact that this world's fictitious nature meant I probably _would_ get cursed for the act. Westeros ran on thematics and irony after all. To say nothing of the magic that did exist. That being said, if I _tricked_ Aemond or Aegon into killing themselves, there wouldn't be any problem.

I didn't see Laena for about two weeks, give or take a couple of days. No one did. She stayed in her room the whole time. It rather fell to Rhaenyra, Laenor and myself to keep the twins company. And Daeron, to an extent.

Rhaena was always a bit more sedate, whereas Baela was more outgoing. Fools that they were, the adults had always taken this to mean Baela was stronger, and Rhaeny Day weaker. People are rarely so simply categorised.

One day, while the sun was shining bright, Daeron, Baela, Rhaeny Day and I were all outside in the gardens. Daeron and Baela ran around the grounds, chasing after the other in turns, and crashing into the shrubbery time and time again with little regard for sense. None of the adults were with us, thankfully, else we'd be hearing worthless lectures on propriety. Especially if said adult was Green. They'd come up with some excuse for why Daeron couldn't play with us, and drag him off. Shit-heads.

Rhaena and I sat on a bench, watching the two. My younger cousin sat because she didn't enjoy rough housing. _I_ sat because Rhaenyra and Laenor were currently too busy to control the times at which I went to sleep and awoke, allowing me to exercise control over my own sleep schedule. Oh, and I'd managed to pilfer a bit of ale the night before.

It was incredibly early, and the sun was shining brightly in the west. Much to my displeasure, as I shielded my eyes. It was two hours after noon.

So, of course, I'd only just woken up.

I was languidly sipping at a cup of water, still half asleep, when it happened. Baela tripped over a rock and fell forwards. She caught herself with her hands, but made no move to get back in a standing position.

She simply knelt there on her knees, palms splayed out into the dirt, and stared at the ground with a blank face.

"Baela?" Rhaeny Day called out. "You alright?"

She just kept staring at the ground for a couple of minutes. Daeron had stopped his own mad dashing, and stood a few feet away from Baela, watching her with an awkward expression. He clearly had no idea what to do.

None of us mentioned the stillbirth. Well, the others probably didn't fully understand what had occurred, so whether or not they _could_ put it into words was beyond me. Even then, no one mentioned 'what had happened', as we were wont to refer to it.

After a minute of silence, Baela burst into tears.

"A-are you hurt? When you tripped?" Daeron stammered out, completely confused. Next to me Rhaeny Day frowned and looked down, picking at the hem of her dress.

"Wh-why won't mama come out her room?" Baela moaned more than said that, hiccuping as she did. "No one will say anything…"

Daeron was wringing his hands now, and shooting me a pleading glance. Not that I understood why, he was theoretically a year my elder, and no one would ever accuse me of being the friendliest kid. I sighed, and stood, slowly walking over to Baela.

I leaned over her, looking down at her as she wept.

"Hmmm. You really are a crybaby, huh?" I asked. A ' _what?_ ' was hissed out from in front of me, and behind me, a choking sound came. I ignored both of them.

"Am not!" Baela glared at me through her tears, and hiccuped again.

"Seems like it. Here, you gotta drink water or you'll run out of tears." I handed her the cup in my hand, and after a moment, she took it.

It had the intended effect. As she drank, her sobs became fewer and further between, 'til she wasn't crying anymore.

I used that time to glare at Daeron, who was still staring at me like he couldn't believe I'd called her a crybaby.

"Why'd you have to push her?" I demanded.

"W-wh- I didn't!"

Baela spluttered around her mouthful of water, and looked at me, confusion evident in her features.

"He didn't push me, he was by the roses." She protested.

"Nah, I saw it. He _definitely_ pushed you."

"No I didn't!"

"Valaena, don't lie." Rhaeny Day had come up by us, and was pouting at me. "He didn't."

"See!" Daeron shouted.

" _You_ don't lie. He pushed her, absolutely. I saw it." I kept arguing.

Baela rose to her feet and tossed the cup aside, her tears forgotten.

"Stop lying, no he didn't!" She glared at me.

"You're right, I was lying!" I threw my head back and laughed. Then I grabbed the front of her dress and shoved her onto her back. " _I_ pushed you!"

Rhaeny Day shouted 'don't be mean' or something to that effect, while Daeron simply sputtered in bewilderment. I paid them no mind, and took off running, as Baela got back to her feet and began sprinting after me.

**Two Days Later**

The door to was still shut, but Rhaena just stood in front of it, staring at it. She didn't even notice me coming up behind her. I grabbed her shoulder suddenly and shouted in her ear, and she leapt so high into the air I half thought she'd discovered the secret of human flight. The shout may have disturbed Laena, still inside the room, but I didn't really give a shit.

Rhaena landed on her feet, and spun harshly

"Valaena! Stop doing that!" It was her own fault, in my opinion. The other kids, and some of the adults, had already learned not let their guard down when I was on the loose. Aemond and Daemon would rage every time I startled them, whereas Aegon and Laenor would scowl. No matter who I got, Viserys would laugh. Even when I got him, he'd bellow his amusement so loud the whole damn city could hear.

I liked Viserys.

"Did you hear? The King said Grandpa Corlys got eaten by the Cannibal!" I reached forward as I spoke, pinching Rhaena's nose closed and twisting it from side to side.

"Shut up, no he didn't!" She slapped out, smacking my arms and face as she tried to get my hand off her face.

I let go of her nose, and palmed her face, leveraging her head and pushing her around in a circle. Her legs kicked out and she stumbled several times, unused to walking backwards as she was. She finally managed to smack my arm off, but I skipped away quickly before she could try to retaliate.

"Valaena!" Her eyes filled with tears.

"It's true! I saw Grandpa Corlys in the small council room earlier, let's go ask him if he got ate or not!"

"What?!"

I grabbed her wrist and yanked, pulling her off balance. I dragged her behind me as I raced along the halls. Eventually we came to the small council room. I opened the door, and Corlys looked up at us, exhaustion clear in his face. Dark circles sat under his eyes, and his beard was far more scraggly than usual.

"See, I told you!" I proudly proclaimed.

"You said he got ate!"

"Yup! Hey Grandpa, did the Cannibal eat you?"

He stared at me, his eyes utterly uncomprehending. The quill in his hand slowly moved back to the inkpot. He set it in there, and continued to stare at me.

"I heard the Cannibal ate you earlier, and now you're dead. Is that true?" I asked, my grin splitting my face.

"I'm right in front of you..." He said slowly, as if in disbelief that this conversation was really occurring.

"Yup! So you're the best one to ask!" I shouted. "Are you dead?"

"No."

"Rhaeny Day totally thought you were though!"

"Shut up, no I didn't! And stop calling me that!"

Corlys sighed, and rubbed his eyes.

"Look, Val, this really isn't the time for your… antics. There's a lot going on. Work to be done, and Laena's..." His voice was tired, creaking from exhaustion, and he trailed off at the end, staring at his papers.

Rhaeny Day looked down at that, frowning at her shoes. I let go of her wrist, prancing on over to the table where Corlys was working. I leaned forward, until our noses were nearly touching. He stared at me with wide eyes, pulling back as far as he could while remaining seated. I, on the other hand, just grinned even wider, 'til every inch of my teeth were bared. The empty space from where Daemon had hit me and knocked a tooth out a month or so ago probably made it a goofier sight than I intended.

"Who cares?!" I gleefully shouted, before grabbing the inkpot and dumping it all into my hair.

"Valaena, what in the hells are you-?!" Corlys rose to his feet and snatched the pot from my hands, but it was too late.

"Pfft- now I look like Grandma Rhaenys!" The ink dripped down my forehead, but I wiped it off before it reached my eyes.

I skipped back over to Rhaeny Day- staring at me mute and uncomprehending- as Corlys shouted for me to 'stop right there', and I grabbed her wrist again.

"Come on, let's go ask someone else if grandpa is dead, he doesn't seem to know."

**One Month Later -120 AC**

"Rhaenyra, dear, would you please pass some of the ham this way?" Alicent's voice was so agonisingly saccharine, she likely required a diabetes test. "You always take _so_ much. A woman of such high birth must watch her weight more. Like your sister."

Helaena stared down at her own plate, pushing around some greens with her fork. She didn't look up at being mentioned. Instead, she seemed to shrink further down, desperate to avoid being dragged into the fray.

"Of course _mother_. You can have some, though I'm surprised. It's so unusual for you to desire what is mine. But I did think comments about my weight beneath you." _She really doesn't understand subtlety, huh?_

"Oh, Rhaenyra, I only speak from a place of concern. You know I care for you deeply."

"My mistake, then. Your advice is welcome. I certainty hope to look so good as you once I've gotten on in the years."

How did Viserys not notice this? The King smiled, full of cheer that his wife and eldest were getting along. _I guess people really do see what they want to see._

I went back to murdering my steak. The usual bickering and sly insults failed to hold my interest. Instead, my focus was aimed someone else, someone not even present. A newborn could hardly be expected to attend a dinner, after all.

Viserion, in my estimation, was a very stupid name. The idea behind it wasn't hard to figure out. It did homage to Viserys, and Rhaenyra got a little joke she thought only she knew. Viserion had been the name of one of Daenerys' dragons. Hilarious. Unfortunately, it didn't seem Laenor or Rhaenyra agreed with me on the stupidity of the name.

I rather disliked a _lot_ about my new brother. From his name to the fact that he was a brother, rather than a sister.

I had been quite clear with Rhaenyra about what I expected from her, and yet she chose to ignore me and give birth to a boy instead of a girl. Really, the nerve.

It was rather concerning.

At least no one had the balls to say outright that he'd inherit over me. But I still understood what they meant when they couched it all in vague statements.

Viserys in particular had crowed his heart out about how Rhaenyra's line was now 'secure'. Fat bastard. Rather thought his stance would be a bit different, considering his own policies on his inheritance, but that was really my fault for expecting people to behave consistently.

A little sister would have had no method by which to place herself ahead of me. A brother though? He'd be able to find supporters. If I had more than a five year headstart, I'd be much better positioned. _Better than a four year start, or three. Stop complaining, you can work with this._ I reminded myself.

Besides, there was no guarantee he'd seek the throne. I could hardly judge him for something he'd yet to do.

My knife shredded the steak more than it cut it. I tore a piece from the whole, speared it with my fork in a vicious motion, and dropped it in my mouth. Whereupon I chewed it violently.

My mood was pretty clear, and my two cousins ate quietly, occasionally glancing over at me like I might erupt at any moment. The adults paid it little attention, however. Corlys and Rhaenys were positively ecstatic, and Rhaenyra and Laenor were _glowing_ , pleased as fuck with themselves. Amongst the Blacks, only Daemon and Laena were in a low mood, and they'd been that way for a while now. Even then, their current mood was still higher than it had been.

"To my grandson! Hah, I have a grandson now!" Corlys raised his glass in a toast, his smile splitting his face. Viserys roared his own agreement.

"Aye, to Viserion." Rhaenyra laughed, downing her own glass, and sputtered a bit at the taste. "Gods, I missed alcohol these past months."

"The rest of us were missing alcohol as well." Daemon grumbled, glaring at me. "Somehow, much of it has gone missing recently."

I ignored him.

"I must say, King Viserion Velaryon has some ring to it." Rhaenys said, her lips curling at the scowl on Alicent's face.

"Sounds like someone stuttered. Queen Valaena Targaryen sounds better." I bit out, glaring at the black haired woman, who seemed taken aback by the heat in my voice.

"You're a Velaryon too, Val." Corlys waved his hand from side to side.

"Besides, you and Viserion will marry." Rhaenys blinked at me, not comprehending my outburst. But it wasn't her thoughts that mattered. One glance at my mother told me all I needed to know.

Her nose wrinkled up, and the ends of her mouth tilted downwards. That marriage wasn't going to happen. Fine by me, really. I may want power, but I didn't know the kind of person Viserion would become, so being chained to him wasn't ideal. Maybe in the future it would be a more acceptable option, but even then there was cause for concern. I intended to be Queen Regnant, not Consort.

"Val, what's wrong?" Viserys asked. "You should be happy. The bond between siblings is wonderful." His eyes glanced to Daemon at that, then to Aegon and Helaena.

"That's not it..." I lied.

"Oh? Has something happened?"

"No, not really. It's just that I really wanted to play with Daeron today..." I leaned into the excuse, wrapping my lie in the real concern that Viserion's birth had inspired in me.

Aegon began to sweat a bit, already realising where this was going. Shouldn't have acted like a prick.

Daeron's brow furrowed. "I wasn't busy."

I opened my mouth in surprise.

"But Aegon said you weren't to be disturbed? That you had lessons?"

"Of course not, I finished my lessons for the week yesterday."

"Aegon..." The King growled out. He so hated it when evidence of the royal schism was presented to him. A smile threatened to cross my face as he berated Aegon, but I managed to keep a lid on it.

It was a given that Aegon would bar me from seeing his brother. If I wanted to see Daeron, I'd go to him directly. Knowing that Viserys had called a family dinner to celebrate Viserion's birth, I'd needed something to use as ammo against the Greens. Aegon had been too willing to oblige.

**Eight Months Later – 121 AC**

The stillbirth may have brought him some reprieve, but I always remembered every threat I made.

It had taken some time to find a good wasp's nest. Few managed to stick around in the city, and none whatsoever in the keep itself. The scarcity of the nests was compounded by the fact that I could hardly roam the city at six years old. Well, not without slipping my handlers, at least.

I was loathe to do that as well. A young girl loose in the city was just asking for trouble. Especially one with such obviously Valyrian features. I might run afoul of a murderer, a rapist, or worst of all, a Green.

Eventually, I hit on a solution. The squires loitering around the keep. Adrian Thorne was the squire of one Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, and more than willing to indulge a good prank. All I had to do was promise to help him out with one of his own pranks later.

Despite being near ten years younger than him, I'd already managed to garner a slight reputation. Adrian in particular had briefly tried to have a prank war with me. It came to a close before too long, however.

Viserys had held a tourney for Viserion's birth. Adrian awoke the day of the tourney to find all of his shirts and trousers gone, replaced with a single dress, approximately his size.

Uncle Joffrey had been unsympathetic to his plight, saying 'you knew what you were getting into'. He made Adrian attend him in that dress. It wasn't too much of a detriment, Uncle Joffrey ranked only behind Ser Steffon, the Cargyll twins and Daemon. But, Adrian was seen in full view of the court handing Uncle Joffrey his lances in a dress. He'd surrendered the prank war to me that night.

But he was a boy of good humour, holding no grudge, and was eager to collaborate once I broached the topic.

As a squire, Adrian got a day off each week, and in accordance with the plan, he used that to go into King's Landing and search for the hornet nests. As well as get up to whatever business he'd normally get up to in the city, I didn't really care to know the details there.

His search bore angry, buzzing fruit. The nest was captured within a canvas bag, tied tight at the opening so that no wasps could escape. I hid the bag under my bed.

Ser Erryk was standing watch over the hallway which lead to my parents', Viserion's, and my own apartments that night. In order to get to Daemon's room, I had to first slip past a vigilant Kingsguard. To do that, I had to leave from another route than the hallway.

I'd been examining walls all throughout the Red Keep for a couple years now, searching for concealed openings. It was actually quite rare for me to discover such openings to the secret passages from the outside. I only ever managed to find two that way. Once I'd been able to get into the passages, it was a different story. I found numerous entrances back into rooms and hallways from inside the passages themselves.

I'd started to work on a map of the them, and the tunnels underneath the keep, trying to understand as much of them as possible. I rather needed such a map, my own sense of direction was negligible at best.

It was nowhere near complete, but it was enough to avoid people here and there, and even listen in on some conversations. Unfortunately I'd yet to find any passages which might let me eavesdrop on the King's chambers, the Hand's, or the small council room- my primary targets. I'd managed to find Aegon's room though. He was a bit dull, however, and I had yet to glean any truly useful information from him. Still, I imagined the find would pay off eventually.

I lifted a chair a little so that it tilted, showing the legs on one side. It had taken me some time to hollow out the leg with the dagger I'd doe-eyed Corlys into giving me, but it had been well worth it. I pulled the map from it, checking it thoroughly and planning out my route. Then I put it back into the leg of the chair. The map couldn't be allowed to leave my possession, and the most likely way it might do so was if I were caught with it.

My arms were a little tired from lifting the chair by that point. _It's so easy to take the strength of an adult for granted, huh?_

There was a bundle of rope under my bed, in addition to the canvas bag. I grabbed both, tying one end of the rope to my bedpost, and tossing the other end out my window. Then I walked away, my distraction planted.

I was lucky to have an entrance to the passageways within my own room. That had facilitated an absurd number of plots and tricks already. To this day, no one understood how I could sneak up behind them when the hall or room had been seemingly empty seconds earlier. Well, Rhaenyra seemed to have some suspicion, but I just fashioned together a character who didn't know about the passages whenever she tried hinting at my incomprehensible movements.

I pulled a table to the side, and felt along the wall for the seam. When I found it, I pushed, and the doorway opened. I pulled the table back in front of the opening, before stepping into the passage and closing the wall back up.

The table was so damn useful. The feet squeaked when pushed, but the sound was inaudible outside of the room, so no one knew when I was using the passage. If someone were to enter my room while I was inside, they'd alert me as they pushed the table out of their way. I was a light sleeper, so it would be more than enough to wake me. Furthermore, since the wall opened inward, I could always put the table back in front of the entrance before closing the wall back up. That way, no one would be clued in to where the entrance was located, even _if_ they were to suspect I had access to such a passage.

I emerged from the passageways well past Ser Erryk, and crept down the dark hallways towards the apartments housing Daemon, Laena, and the twins.

My aunt and uncle's room door was locked. It had been a bit surprising for me to learn that the Westerosi actually had pin tumbler locks. I didn't know _why_ that was shocking for me, it made sense, they needed locks. It just wasn't something I had associated with medieval societies.

Many of the 'off-limits' areas, like the black cells and the treasury, used massive padlocks, but for the residential suites, the locks were built into the doors.

I set to work. I'd been getting more practice lately, but I still wasn't the best at picking locks, to be perfectly honest. Plus, the locks in the Red Keep were pretty damn good, though they thankfully didn't have anything like security pins. That would've put an end to my lockpicking endeavours before they had a chance to begin.

It was a full two minutes before I managed to unlock the door.

I left for a moment, and searched along the wall for another entrance to the passageways. Even knowing it was there, it was damned tough to find the right brick. Eventually, though, one of them compressed under my hand. I only opened the door long enough to drop my lockpicking tools down into the passageway, before I closed it back up.

With how damn hard it was to get the things, I was hardly going to lose my set again. My father had caught me a year back picking a lock, and had confiscated the tools. Stealing them back had been a simple enough task, and I'd been able to hide them in my undergarments when Laenor inevitably came by to check my room for the tools. He'd walked away empty handed. I discovered the secret entrance in my room not long after, and took to hiding them in there.

He knew damn well I'd taken them, but try as he might, my father simply couldn't figure out where I'd put them. And to be certain, he and Rhaenyra would occasionally search my room while I was out, hoping to find contraband. One time, they succeeded. Pity. I'd been looking forward to that wine.

Either way, I'd be back for the lockpicks later, but for now they needed to be hidden. It was a certainty I'd be caught, and my aunt and uncle would know full well their door had been locked. I would be searched, and I wouldn't risk such valuable tools.

I returned to Daemon's room, and crept inside. He and his wife were laying peacefully under the covers, unaware of the hell soon to visit them.

I dropped the bag atop the covers. Putting it under the covers would have been easy, but I wasn't _that_ vicious. Daemon had only disrespected me the once, and Laena not at all.

_Apologies, Aunt Laena. You're collateral damage._

I undid the tie at the top of the bag. The wasps had calmed in the hours since their capture, and though they'd stirred a little when I began transporting them, it hadn't been much, and the trip had taken long enough that they quieted down by the time I entered the room.

I smacked the bag, and let out a high screech. Daemon and Laena awoke with a start, thrashing in their panic. Their movement would draw the wasps attention, I knew. But my current priority was remaining unstung. I bolted from the room, slamming the door shut behind me. The screams echoed behind me as I sprinted off down the halls.

**One Day Later**

No library access for a month, and a hard spanking. That was fine though.

No one raised their voices to me.


	3. Rhaenyra I: Family Meeting

**121 AC**

The room was usually unoccupied. Dust lingered on the table, and about the chairs. Joffrey was kind enough to wipe the dust away for his lover, and said lover's wife, but the rest all chose to sit in the dust rather than waste time cleaning like servants.

It was perhaps a touch odd that Joffrey might sit in a family council, but as the Princess of Dragonstone's sworn shield and Laenor's close 'friend', his presence was accepted readily enough. The Velaryons likely remembered when he was but a squire, getting into mischief alongside Laenor at all hours of the day.

Rhaenyra tried to picture what a young Joffrey might look like, but her whimsical thoughts curdled at the grim look on her goodfather's face.

"This latest stunt was too much. Laenor, you're simply not exercising enough authority. I forgave you your indiscretions, and your refusal to learn the blade, but you are a father now, and you _must_ become the man of your family. For their sake."

"Corlys, come now." She couldn't help but come to her husband's defence. It might be the way of things in Westeros, but she was determined to alter the common social standards. "Your view on these… _gender roles_ is too narrow and rigid. Having a lover hardly emascu-"

" _You're_ not handling this well either, Rhaenyra." He cut her off. "The both of you are responsible for keeping your daughter under control. You are not managing."

"Wait- wait. Hold a moment. Rhaenyra, Corlys, what did you just say?" Rhaenys' voice. Confusion and anger coloured it. "A lover? _Indiscretions_?"

Rhaenyra's gut sank. The relationship between Joffrey and Laenor could be charitably described as a poorly kept secret, if one had a loose definition of secret. But even so, Laenor's mother had never truly believed the rumours. And it was paramount to all of them that they not clue her in to the truth, considering her views on cheating, and likely same-sex relationships as well. But with Corlys' needling, she'd slipped up.

"Th-that…" Laenor's voice was shaky, and a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. "It was before I married Rhaenyra! A-and I stopped once I had!"

A furious growl went through the room, Laenor's mother glaring at him. _Half Baratheon._ Rhaenyra thought. _Theirs is the fury._

"Well." Daemon said, dry as Dorne. "It's clear Val didn't inherit her ability to lie from her father."

"You little shit!" Rhaenys bit out. "I raised you better than this! Cheating on your wife, dishonouring your own fucking marriage!"

"Rhaenys, peace, I knew before the wedding, it didn't bother-"

"You _what_?! And you were fine, with w-what? What? Just letting your marriage be a sham? You'll be Queen! It's hard enough for people to take you seriously, but with the man I _raised better_ giving you horns, and your own daughter running roughshod all over you, you'll be the laughing stock of the whole damn court! _This_ is the woman I staked my family's claim on?" _Val runs roughshod over me? Is that how they see it?_

"Val is beside the point, it- Laenor was just- we have an understanding! And it works, and that's all a marriage needs in Westeros, it's not as though we wed for love!" Rhaenyra's scrambling excuses were delivered in a high pitch, nearly a whine. Her hands were up in a placating manner, desperate to defuse the bomb she'd inadvertently lit.

"Val rather _is_ the point. The entire reason we're here, in fact. Shouldn't we get back to that?" Laena grumbled, and rubbed at a particularly nasty welt on her hand.

"In. A. Minute." Rhaenys' teeth ground together so hard it made a cracking sound. "Laena, did you know about this? Apparently _your father_ did, and didn't see fit to tell me. And the rest of you too?"

A few seconds passed with no one commenting. Rhaenyra couldn't meet her eyes, and a glance around the room showed the rest of them keeping their own heads down. Corlys in particular seemed stricken. _Two seahorses here have found themselves in hot water._

"Cousin. We all knew. And we didn't tell you because we knew you'd act like this." The Rogue Prince said, leaning back in his chair, talking as though he were bored of the whole argument. She'd admit one thing, Daemon had balls.

"Fuck you!" Rhaenys whirled on him, her face red, and a vein throbbing in her temple. "Just- fuck you! That… no."

She sniffed a bit. "No, actually, you're right, aren't you. It seems my family doesn't trust me at all."

Rhaenys was verging on hysterical, loathe as Rhaenyra was to use that word. It actually fit this time. Her eyes snapped from person to person, daring them to argue with her.

"Joffrey. Look at me, not your boots. You've been quiet. But don't worry, I never expected you to be more loyal to me than my son. It's obvious you'd know.

"But please do tell me. When I asked you to look out for him, to keep him out of trouble, did you think I only cared about his physical safety? You couldn't keep him safe from some harlot's clutches? Tell me, who is the harpy who dug her claws in him?"

"Mother, you're blowing this out proportion. Just calm-"

"Silence, adulterer." Her voice was like _i_ _ce_. Rhaenyra couldn't help a small gulp, but she came to his aid, voice shaking.

"Like I said, he did it with my full knowledge! And it's _my_ marriage, I retain the right to determine whether he's… shamed me or not."

"I don't understand that. How could you be accepting of this? Are you truly just that weak?" Rhaenys shook her head, looking down. "Why… ugh. Well, at least this disproves those disgusting rumours."

The silence went on a beat too long, and her head snapped up.

"Wait, wait, no! Why are you all looking away-"

"Marinda of Hull!" Rhaenyra shouted. All eyes turned to her as she gripped the hem of her dress under the table, fussing with it to try and work out some of her nervous energy.

"H-her name. Um. Laenor's mistress, that is. A woman in Hull. As the name implies..."

This seemed to shut Rhaenys up though. She likely just couldn't think of how to respond now that she knew the 'truth'. Everyone followed suit, digesting Rhaenyra's bombshell and trying to figure out how to move on from here. Corlys stared at her, his face pale, and she tried to get her apologies across to him with her eyes.

"...Why?" It would seem the anger had finally burned its way through her, for Rhaenys' tone was softer now, coloured by a genuine confusion. "Why let him keep a mistress? That's the one part I don't understand..."

"Erm… well."

"What if she has bastards? That would be..."

"The entire point!" Rhaenyra latched onto the out she'd been unwittingly given. "I want her to have his bastards."

"W-you-w-… _what_?!"

"They'll be able to ride dragons." She hurried to cobble her explanation together. "And I thought, you know, we'd need dragonriders to… erm… bolster our position."

"Yes. So, Marinda and her bastards are important for our plans." Corlys backed her up, eager to salvage this and probably seeing a way to spare his mistress from Rhaenys' wroth.

"Rhaenyra waited five years after having Val to have another child. She simply could have had more of her own if she wanted dragonriders." Not to be deterred, Rhaenys pointed out the obvious flaw in that excuse. "We can't trust _bastards_ to aid us, they'd be just as like to turn on us."

"Many a woman has died in the childbed. If I were to have followed suit, my claim would end with me. Val was, still is, too young to inherit. Aegon would take the throne, and her life would be jeopardised. I'm no craven, and I'll not avoid my duty, but there's no point taking unnecessary risks. I still remember my own mother..." Rhaenyra leaned into the excuse Aemma Arryn provided her. The pity would help make Rhaenys back off.

In truth she hardly recalled Aemma. The woman had died when she was quite young, and she'd already _had_ a mother. She didn't need a new one, she felt. They hadn't bonded much. And then before too long, she died. A pang of old guilt shot through Rhaenyra. _No children, and no friends. She was lonely, and I couldn't be what she needed. She died alone, because of me._

The room lapsed into a bit of quiet again, this one more awkward than those preceding it. Most of them kept talking a bit about the revelation, in a far more calm manner this time. Well, in Rhaenys' case, it seemed more like she felt defeated then that she'd calmed down on her own terms.

Finally, it was Daemon who changed the topic.

"If we might remember the purpose behind our meeting tonight?" Rhaenyra flinched at that, but hid it well enough. She'd had a bit of hope that, with all the excitement, this topic might be forgotten.

"Indeed. The situation with Val is just escalating." Corlys noted.

"She could commit murder in the middle of court, and the King and her parents would let her get away with it the moment she dropped a few false tears." Laena grumbled, glaring at Rhaenyra.

"She's hardly _that_ bad. Pranks are far from unheard of, coming from a child." Joffrey came to her defence., flashing an easy, boyish smile.

"Be that as it may, Val _isn't_ being taken to task for her offences. She needs discipline." Daemon argued back.

"That's the problem, Daemon." Frustration filled Laenor's tone, and she sympathised with him. "We _are_ disciplining her. We do random checks of her room. We spank her, we ban her from reading or playing for a period of time. She just doesn't _care_. She takes the punishment and then goes off to do it again."

"Everyone has a weakness. In order to bring Val to heel, her weakness must be found and exploited. Mercenary as that sounds." Daemon again.

"You speak of my daughter like an enemy to be defeated. It's not like her behaviour is _that_ egregious." The protests felt weak in her mouth.

"Isn't it? Val is uncontrolled. She's doing incomprehensible things, constantly. And now, she's _hurting_ people." Rhaenys said.

"There are times when she says things that make no sense as well. She asked me if I'd been eaten by a dragon once, and let's not forget the time she tried to convince everyone in court that Aegon had gone north to become the King Beyond the Wall." Corlys added. "Some of the people whisper about her, and it's easy to see why. The dragon's blood has always had… unforeseen effects."

As they said such awful things, Rhaenyra could only think of her sweet little Val. The girl who slapped Lord Massey's son when he pulled a cat's tail. Who called her cousin a cute nickname like Rhaeny Day, and played with Moondancer like the dragonling were a dog. Val would always _tell_ the servants to do something rather than say 'please', but she always said 'thank you' when the task was completed, and always remembered their names.

_She's so kind. Why can't anyone else see it?_

But Rhaenyra's mind turned again, and all the thoughts she tried not to think made themselves known.

_They say Aerys had been charming, and in love with the arts when he was young. He was well-liked, before he began to sour. Are we seeing the first signs?_

The voice of Tyrion Lannister, from that far future that would never come to pass, rang out in her mind. 'When a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin.'

_My sweet little girl. My only daughter. Why did it have to be this way?_

"Don't be absurd." Aid came from an unexpected place, as Daemon wrenched her from her melancholic spiral. "She's six. Children _always_ say and do incomprehensible things, that's what makes them children. It's far too early to call her mad."

"Indeed, my own squire plays pranks now and then, and he's four and ten. Hells, I think he might have had a hand in the wasp incident." Joffrey chimed in. "Can't prove it though."

Rhaenyra sniffled a bit, but didn't say anything else. A bit of light shined in her heart, and her chest felt far less tight then it had just a few seconds prior.

"Well, we agree Val needs discipline. But _how_? What 'weakness' can we exploit, to use Daemon's phrasing?" Rhaenys asked.

"Leave it to me. I've an idea on that." Daemon said.


	4. Joffrey I: A Prophecy

**121 AC**

Banners fluttered in the wind. The crab of Celtigar, the flail of Thorne, and the swordfish of Bar Emmon to name a few. Not unexpected. All the Crownlander houses were in King's Landing. A touch more unusual were some of the other banners, showing off the more far flung houses that were also present. Brax, Tarly, and Prester to name a few.

It would all become even more crowded soon enough. The Houses present now were all the ones who'd come early. No Lords Paramount had appeared yet, and the majority of their vassals were travelling with them.

But amongst all the banners, one in particular stood out. A lilac background, with a white sword. And a falling star, crossing it.

House Dayne was in the capital.

Joffrey wasn't sure _what_ they were doing here. A glance at Rhaenyra gave him some idea, though. Her gold and silver hair was done up in a high plait, and she was wearing one of her nicest dresses. He knew the schedule, and there were no petitioners today who would warrant her dressing up. A small smile played across the Princess' face, as she looked at the fluttering white-and-violet banner. Somehow, Rhaenyra had caused this.

Valaena also clearly understood that this was unusual. Or perhaps she was simply reacting to the outfit she'd been forced into, kicking and screaming. A frilly dress, its colour matching the silver hair that had been braided into buns, on either side of her head. Val _hated_ buns with a passion, and she always wished to wear black or red over silver or blue. Joffrey knew her preference for her mother's colours full well, after having listened to her father griping about it.

His lips curved upwards a hair. Perhaps a month ago, Laenor had gone on the old familiar rant anew, after Val had rather emphatically chosen to wear her mother's colours for a feast. His rant had come hours after the feast had ended, with the two of them having managed to retire together for a night- a hard feat in the capital. Too many eyes.

Joffrey had to admit he'd not been listening to Laenor, preferring instead to look at him. His silver hair had been let loose, his brow furrowed over lilac eyes, shining with his annoyance. It was easy to recall that expression now, looking at Val. Laenor's daughter looked so alike to him.

Her eyebrows were scrunched so far down they threatened to touched her nose. She glared out at the banners fluttering in the city, like she could light them on fire with her mind. A light chuckle escaped Joffrey's mouth at the sight. She levelled that same glare at him, pouting even harder.

The three of them were out on the wall of the Red Keep, looking out over all of King's Landing. Lords and knights were filtering in, a veritable siege of well-wishers and merry-makers, making ready for the tourney to be held in Viserion and Aegon's honour. As it was, the two princes had their namedays within two weeks of one another. As such, the tourney, and the majority of the celebrations, would come between the two dates.

No doubt this was a welcome relief for Lord Strong. The Hand was always so overworked, trying to plan out King Viserys' innumerable similar festivities.

Few were ever so large and well-attended, fortunately. A feast for Helaena's nameday, a tourney for Aemond's, and another for Daeron's. A feast for Val's, and occasionally some celebration for whatever arbitrary purpose the King could drum up. The only one that ever drew so large a crowd was Rhaenyra's nameday celebrations, for the obvious reason that she was the heir.

But, an immense gathering had come out for the Two Princes Tourney. The Greens were all coming to show support for Aegon, and the Blacks to… well, show support for the infant Viserion, _and_ rain on Aegon's parade. As for why the Daynes had come, Joffrey had not the slightest idea.

"Why is a Dornish house here?" Val asked the obvious question. "They're not exactly on good terms with us. I believe there was a lot of Fire and Blood?"

"The Daynes have business with me." Her mother said. "Since there was to be a tourney, they decided to make a trip out of it, I suppose.

"You should be more excited. It's not every day you get to see the famed Sword of the Morning fight in a tourney." Rhaenyra winked at her daughter.

"The little princess has grown spoiled. Once you've seen _me_ fight in a tourney, no Sword of the Morning could ever compare." Joffrey japed. Valaena rolled her eyes, ignoring him.

"Besides, Lady Elinor has a son, not much older than you. You might like to make friends with the boy." Rhaenyra said.

Valaena didn't say anything in response to that, deciding instead to grunt and continue looking out at the banners. Seemed she was in one of her quieter moods today.

A pang of concern made its way through Joffrey. She looked fine now, but when they'd first gone to wake her, they'd found her already up. And her appearance… well, she'd agreed to take a bath easy enough, and the powders covered the shadows beneath her eyes. Forcing some food into her stomach had been the tricky part. Rhaenyra had only managed to get a few paltry cuts of pork into her before Val retreated back into herself.

Valaena slept poorly most nights, but usually she'd go to Mellos or Gerardys for some draught to put her abed. That she'd not done so the night before was concerning. It wasn't unheard of for Valaena to simply not sleep or eat, and when that happened, it tended to imply a darker mood than her usual. He'd have to let Laenor know.

"Well, there's no time like the present." Rhaenyra said. "Come." With that, she began walking back down the stairs.

Joffrey exchanged a look with Val, and shrugged. The two of them walked after the Princess, following her down the stairs and across the courtyard. Her path took them through the gate and to the stables, and Joffrey raised an eyebrow.

"Your Grace? Will we be going to meet the Daynes?"

"That's part of it." Rhaenyra turned with a grin. "I'd also quite like to see some of the entertainment on display for the tourney."

He looked out at the stables, noticing something mildly amiss. _Laenor's horse is missing. And one of the white ones the Kingsguard keep._

Their own two horses were saddled in short order. Since she was too young to ride on her own, Val rode with Joffrey. They set out at a trot. The majority of the powerful nobles and most Crownlander lords had some manors of their own near to the Keep itself, and so they saw nearly all of these lords and ladies who'd come to enjoy the tourney in the first few minutes that they began their descent into the city.

Rhaenyra waved, sharing a dazzling smile with all the nobles they passed. Most returned the smile, with a bow. Well, these lords were majority Crownlanders, and so mostly Blacks, after all.

Though none could ever accuse her of caring for decorum, Val at least seemed to realise the importance of playing nice with the vassals. The smile she gave them all was, though less bright, not nearly as practised or wooden. She seemed so genuine in her delight at seeing them all that it even fooled Joffrey, giving him a spark of hope that her mood might be soon to flip. That spark was snuffed out once they'd cleared the manors, and the cheerful expression melted away in an instant.

"Ugh." Valaena grimaced. "Can we go back in now? This sun is too bright…"

He chuckled a bit. "I'm afraid not. We're here until your mother says otherwise."

She groaned at that, and they kept riding through the streets. The streets were packed, revellers carousing, minor bards playing whatever Targaryen themed songs they knew, vendors hawking their wares. Joffrey even saw a pair of acrobats doing flips outside a tavern, to a large crowd.

He tried to point them out to Val, still perched in front of him, but she was dismissive. Instead she reached a hand to the side of her head, fussing at one of the buns. Joffrey pried her hand from her hair.

"We can't have you making a mess of your hair when you're soon to meet… some notable Lords."

"It'll look better if I _do_ make it a mess. Buns are awful." Valaena's retort was a grumble, but Rhaenyra heard it regardless.

"I think it looks lovely, Val. With the silver dress and buns, you look like- hmmm." The Princess tapped her chin, thinking. "You remind of a story. A princess from a long time ago, in a land far, far away. I shall tell it to you sometime."

Val's newest groan was the most powerful yet, filled with some note of raw agony that Joffrey simply could not decipher. He shrugged, and turned his attention back to the walls, fast coming up to meet them.

Though the Daynes were a powerful house, no Dornishmen owned any manses in King's Landing, for obvious reasons. So in order to meet them, they had to continue onwards, to the gates, as the banner of the Daynes flew from outside the wall. They weren't the only ones. Prester, Brax, and Tarly were hardly powerful enough to have their own residences near the Keep. Their Lords Paramount would, as well as some more noteworthy Houses, such as the Reynes, Hightowers, Redwynes and Royces. But for these lesser lords, who didn't live so close to the capital as to make the trip regularly, they had to make pavilions outside the city proper to host their households. When the rest of the distant minor Houses arrived, the space outside the walls would begin filling up as well. Many an inn would be playing host to nobility, soon enough.

It was only a brief wait at the gate, the Princess' party gaining priority over all the others, and being ushered through in minutes.

Outside the walls, Joffrey looked upon the pavilions set up. To his amusement, he noted the tents flying the huntsman of Tarly were set up on the opposite side from those flying the sword and star of Dayne. Some things never changed.

They ambled along to the Dornish camp. It would seem they weren't the first to arrive, either. Joffrey had already noted the absence of Laenor's mare, and one of the white stallions at the Royal Stables, and he saw the reason for it now. Both mounts were being tended to outside the Dayne tents.

The three of them dismounted, handing their reins over to some servant, who set about tying their mounts to the posts erected by the edge of the pavilion.

"Where is Lady Dayne?" Rhaenyra asked the servant. The boy pointed them to the largest tent, and Rhaenyra walked towards it, Joffrey and Valaena following in her footsteps.

Brushing through the tent's flaps, Joffrey couldn't help a quick glance around. Stools and chairs with stone frames and cushioning made of light fabrics were scattered all throughout. Lighting was provided by a number of lanterns, sat atop stone tables.

More importantly, in Joffrey's mind, were the occupants. Laenor sat atop one of the chairs, swirling a red wine in his hand. He'd looked over at their entrance. When their eyes met, Joffrey allowed a small smile to come across his face.

"Your Grace! Welcome, welcome. Your husband and Ser Lorent were just keeping me company."

Lady Elinor was seated atop a series of cushions, all stacked together haphazardly. The red tint to her cheeks matched the wine in her hand, and Joffrey rather suspected she'd made a head start on the week's celebrations.

Flanking her was a man Joffrey could only assume to be Ser Beron, Lady Elinor's younger brother, and the current wielder of Dawn. He looked to be in his early thirties, and carried himself well. His shoulders seemed as broad as his fabled greatsword was long, and his forearms were well-muscled. Silver hair fell to a square jaw, and a scar ran underneath one of his violet eyes. Where King Viserys' moustache was rather comical, square as it was, Ser Beron's curled up at the ends, adding to his rugged appearance.

Blood pulsed through Joffrey's veins, signalling his excitement. He _definitely_ wanted to fight this man.

Apparently, Joffrey's appraisal had not gone unnoticed, as Ser Beron smirked back at him, a dangerous gleam in his eye. Laenor and Ser Lorent rolled their eyes, seemingly in unison. The two were quite aware of Joffrey's competitive nature. He'd effectively declared every knight of the Kingsguard to be his rival, and sought them out in the yards and the lists constantly. Ser Lorent was probably relieved that some other knight would be drawing his attention.

"Lady Elinor, it is a pleasure to finally meet you in person. Even in King's Landing, they tell tales of the beauty of the Daynes, but the rumours do you too little credit." Rhaenyra said, another courtly smile on her face.

"Your Grace, were I half so beautiful as you, I would be a treasure indeed." The Dornishwoman gestured to her side. "Please, meet my brother, Ser Beron. And my son, Olyvar."

A young boy boy, not much older than Valaena stepped forward. Focused on the Sword of the Morning, Joffrey hadn't noticed him. It struck him how alike in appearance the Daynes and the Velaryons were. Looking at Olyvar, he couldn't help but recall an old memory. Though Laena and Laenor were six and five years his elder, respectively, there had been a time where they'd been children together, running around Driftmark. Olyvar looked so much like Laenor had then, and Laena too, on those occasions when she'd worn breeches.

The lot of them exchanged pleasantries, Joffrey paying only a scant amount of attention to it all. Pleasantries had never held much interest for him, overall. Only one exchange brought his true focus.

"Ser Beron. I've heard much and more about the Sword of the Morning." Joffrey said.

"You must be Ser Joffrey Lonmouth. The Knight of Kisses." Ser Beron laughed from his stomach. "The locals have already warned me. 'He may be a bit young, but he's a skilled knight. Even wins against knights of the Kingsguard' they said. Just so you know, I won't take it easy on you in the tourney."

Joffrey grinned. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Rhaenyra sat next to Laenor, and Joffrey remained standing. Valaena walked over to a pile of cushions similar to Lady Elinor's, and flopped onto it, sinking into the cushions. A reprimand issued forth from Laenor, but Val ignored it.

At one point, Lady Elinor ran out of wine. A servant was on hand immediately to refill the glass, without the lady needing to say a word. Her eye seemed to catch on Valaena, who'd watched the exchange enviously. Val looked back with wide eyes, biting her lip nervously. She looked unsure of herself, casting her gaze down, before bringing it back up, an innocent curiosity evident in her eyes.

"Sorry little princess. Your mother would have my hide if I gave you any."

Val's manufactured nervousness fell away, replaced with an annoyed pout, and after a moment of surprised laughter, Lady Elinor returned to the conversation.

When they were finally all done with their greetings and small talk, Rhaenyra turned to her daughter.

"Val, how about you go play with Olyvar? Lady Elinor and I have some matters to discuss. Ser Joffrey will watch over you." He turned, ushering the two children out of the room, and outside.

Outside, it was clear that Olyvar was a somewhat awkward boy. He couldn't maintain eye contact with Valaena, and he stammered as he tried to talk to her. To her credit, Valaena tried to be patient, and indulged him with some small talk. Some more of that inane nonsense that children talked about. No, Valaena didn't have a dragon. Yes, she'd seen them. Yes, she'd ridden one before. Despite her seeming tiredness, she answered all of his questions.

"Your hair is really pretty." But unfortunately, Olyvar made a mistake.

Joffrey sighed as Valaena scowled. _Oh, here we go._

**Two Hours Later**

The witch's abode was a shabby bit of patchwork. Green, brown, and red in random places, surrounded by fat stitches, made up the ugliest, most garish tent Joffrey had ever seen in his life.

"Your Grace, when you said you wished to see some of the attractions, I rather imagined… something else." He said.

"I know, I know. But isn't it just so exciting? What if she really can do magic?" Rhaenyra asked, a little smile on her face.

She wasn't nearly so good an actress as her daughter. The corners of her eyes were tight, and though she'd attempted to keep a pleasant look on her face whenever she noticed him watching her, he'd caught her frowning down at her horse's neck a few times on their way here. Something was troubling the Princess.

"…I don't mean to question your judgement, Your Grace, but are you sure this is wise?" He couldn't stop himself, he just had to push. In his defence, he _really_ didn't want to go in there. Joffrey was no craven, he'd never shy from a fair, honest fight. But magic? A shudder rolled through him.

"Oh, relax, Ser. It'll be fine." As Rhaenyra said that, a slightly hollow tone entered her voice. _She's afraid too._

"Now, let's not take forever. We've come this far, no sense running with our tails between our legs." The Princess swung her leg over, leaping from the back of her horse.

Joffrey swallowed, covering his frustration with a frown, and followed her. It was just the two of them. After the talks with Lady Dayne, they'd come here, at Rhaenyra's insistence. Laenor and Val had returned to the Red Keep, Ser Lorent shadowing them. _Gods I wish I were with them._

Somehow, Rhaenyra had heard of a witch, granting glimpses into the future for a small price. And she'd gotten it into her head to go see the hag. Perhaps the witch had real power, but it was more likely she was a simple charlatan. At least, Joffrey certainly hoped so.

At the entrance to the tent, Rhaenyra hesitated, for half a second. In that half second, Joffrey could feel the relief coursing through him. But it was stamped out when she squared her shoulders, and pressed on into the tent.

The inside was as strange and cluttered as the outside. Queer liquids bubbled in a pot sitting over a fire, and frogs hung from ropes along a wall. There was a table inside, covered over entirely with trinkets and baubles. Next to it hung a net bed, strung from one pole of the tent to another. There was a woman laying in it.

The witch was not at all what Joffrey had expected. There were no warts or pockmarks, her hair had yet to turn grey, and she was neither over nor underweight. Brown hair, brown eyes, and a plain face. Her nose was a bit upturned, giving her a slightly piggish appearance, but the witch was altogether, quite plain.

And as nervous as the two of them, judging by how pale her face turned upon seeing them.

The witch attempted to leap to her feet, but her foot twisted in the netting, causing her to fall out of the slingbed and onto her side.

"Ah! Urgh, er, milady!" The witch groaned, and lifted herself off of the floor, yanking her foot from the netting a couple of times, before it came loose.

"I-I'm honoured! Truly!" She bowed as she said that, a bead of sweat falling down her nose and onto the floor.

Rhaenyra exchanged a glance with him, and he shrugged. Suddenly, he felt far less frightened than he had.

"Please, rise. I understand you claim to possess the gifts of prophecy?"

"Y-yes, milady. J-just a bit. Mostly a bit of fun for the revellers."

Rhaenyra hummed, seeming somewhat disappointed.

"How accurate are your prophecies? How detailed?"

The witch gulped, audibly.

"Always accurate, milady. But, er… a touch sparse on the details. U-usually I see, er, that someone will have fortune in the coming year, or that they'll be miserable, or something."

"Is there no way to increase the amount of detail?" Rhaenyra wondered.

The witch opened her mouth, and then closed it again, looking uncertain.

"The Princess asked you a question." Joffrey said.

"Right! Of course. Well, my former teacher told me, that is… there is a way, for a big prophecy. I've never done it before though."

"But could you? I'm willing to pay a good amount."

The witch wringed her hands.

"I… could. But, erm, the ritual. For a really good reading, I'd need something. Some components."

"Some of my blood?" Rhaenyra guessed. By the look of surprise on the witch's face, she'd guessed right.

"Just a drop, milady. A question for a drop, and I'll tell you all I can."

Rhaenyra knelt, and reached into her boot, pulling a dagger from it. Standing back upright, she made to prick her finger.

"Ah, wait, please, milady. Let me..." The witch rushed over to her pot, and lifted it with a stick stuck through its handles. She carried it outside, dumping the strange liquid in it, and came back in.

Setting the pot back over the fire, the witch grabbed a bucket of water, and poured it in. It hissed immediately, a small puff of steam rising, but the witch paid it no mind, running back and forth between various items.

All together, a frog's eye, a waterskin filled with some blue fluid, a wax figurine, and a few drops of the witch's own blood went into the pot before she returned her attention to the two of them.

"Milady, if you like, you can put a drop of blood in the pot, and ask me a question. I can't promise it'll be perfectly clear, but it should be much more than a vague statement."

Rhaenyra walked over to the pot, brandishing her dagger. Pricking a finger, she let the drop of blood fall into the mixture.

"How will I die?" She asked. She hadn't taken much time to think of it. _She's been planning this_ , he realised.

The witch closed her eyes, and ran a hand along the edge of the pot. Despite the metal having been hot enough to turn some of the water into steam, it was to Joffrey's horror that he realised her skin wasn't burning at all.

The fire danced, casting their shadows along the walls of the tent. It had been doing that since they entered, but now it seemed more sinister. The shadows grew longer, and more numerous. The flames glinted in the eyes of the hanging frogs, and in the crackles of the fire, he could swear he heard whispers.

Finally, the witch spoke, but her tone was hollow, brittle. It lacked any of the nervous energy that had infused it since they'd met her.

"The day of your death… the sun emerges. Dawn is reflected in scales of metal. Jaws descend."

 _Sunfyre._ By the look on her face, Rhaenyra came to the same conclusion. Her jaw was set, but her breathing was stilted, and her eyes held a wild look.

The witch opened her eyes, breathing heavily. Sweat rolled down her brow.

"...I'm sorry, milady, I didn't mean it to be so grim… was it any help?"

Rhaenyra stared at her for a moment before answering.

"Yes. Yes, that helps me a lot. And it was just the one question I could ask?"

The witch hesitated, gnawing at the inside of her cheek.

"This prophecy has a name. I saw that, too, in my mind." The witch looked down at her hands. "The Prophecy of Threes. I think… I think I can go again. Just for two more. But I'll need more blood. Another drop for another question, and then one more after that..."

"Very well. Are you ready?" Rhaenyra asked. The witch nodded. Joffrey's gut twisted at the thought of yet more blood magic, but he knew not to contradict the Princess around others.

She squeezed her finger, dripping more blood into the pot.

"...After I've died, will my line inherit the throne, and wear crowns?"

The shadows danced frantically, and this time Joffrey _knew_ there were voices coming from the fire. Hair rose on the back of Joffrey's neck.

The witch's voice came from deep inside of her, and eyes were totally rolled up to the back of her head.

"Each of your children will sit a throne… A crown of bronze, a crown of silver, a crown of gold."

Rhaenyra turned to him, shooting him a confused look. He wished he had an answer for her. _Would Vis or Val meet an untimely death? Or would they fight for the throne? Why were three crowns described?_

Gasping, the witch left her trance. Her hands shook, and her brown hair clung to her nape, stuck by the sweat.

"That… makes no sense to me." Rhaenyra admitted. "Or, I don't want it to."

"S-sorry, milady. I-I'll be ready to answer your last question. Just… in a moment." They waited as the witch gasped for more air, her breathing slowly calming. Once she seemed placid, she nodded to the Princess.

"Whenever you're ready, milady."

Rhaenyra stared at her hands.

"I want it to be a good question." She said. "But now all I can think of is..." She shook her head.

Another drop of blood went into the pot, and Rhaenyra asked her final question.

"What will my children grow up to be?"

The tent went black. Joffrey could no longer see the two women, he couldn't even see his hands. With a shout, he reached out for them, but found only air. He shouted 'Rhaenyra, Princess!', but he couldn't even hear his own voice, amidst the screams of a hundred voices.

But one voice did penetrate, coming out over the din.

"In no order… a skilled and honourable knight, courageous to the end. A kind but deadly princess, hiding her true identity from the world. A great and powerful dragon, maw dripping with royal blood."

The shadows began to melt away, and the screams fell to whispers, then to silence. Rhaenyra stood in front of the pot, her face pale. Across from her was the witch, unconscious on the


	5. Rhaenyra II: Wallowing

It had been so fucking difficult.

_A great and terrible dragon, maw dripping with royal blood._

When she had first awoken in Westeros, all those years ago, she'd been distraught. The days had all blurred together into a collage of tears and self-pity. She'd lain in her crib, miserable, her mind playing the same few thoughts of how unfair it all was on a loop. It was lucky for her that frequent crying was normal for an infant. Now, twenty-four years later, she had no such easy excuse, but she relived those early days all the same.

The blankets swaddled her anew as she laid in her bed and griped. Both for the past she'd lost, and the future she felt slipping like water through her fingers.

In that other life, that other world, she'd been happy. Content. She'd just bought a little cottage in a sleepy small town on the coast of Devon. She'd graduated university, the same one as her father, and gotten a job as an accountant. All of it, the new house, the comfortable job, and the marriage as well, it had been all she'd wanted.

Just thinking of her first husband made her bury her face further in her pillow. They'd only been married three years when she died. Her marriage to Laenor had already lasted longer. But somehow, even after a quarter of a century, thoughts of him still surfaced here and there. The possibilities that had been. The bright future that was snuffed out in minutes. That vacation to Gibraltar they'd been planning for the summer. _How do_ _es a living man_ _haunt_ _a dead woman's_ _mind? Aren't I supposed to be the spectre_ _here_ _?_

Most of the time, she wasn't sure what he looked like any more. Sometimes, she'd catch a glimpse of another man with similar features, and his face would flash in her mind. Whenever she managed to remember what he looked like, she tried to hold the memory, but it was like trying to carve a name into the sand of the shore. Within a few minutes, the water came and went, taking the imprint with it.

Perhaps that was the difference between love, and the mild friendship she'd struck up with her current husband. Unsurprisingly, Laenor never touched her thoughts in this way.

She'd left behind others as well, when she died.

What of her mother and father? They'd both been fine when she'd died. How did they react to the news? They would have been devastated, but did they manage to pull through? Anything could have happened to them, and she wouldn't be there to help.

_I abandoned them. I abandon everyone. And for what?_

Westeros truly was a hell world. She thought she'd had enemies before. Co-workers who talked about her behind her back, that one clerk at the grocery store who kept being rude to her for no reason. But in Westeros, she'd met people who actually _hated_ her. Even now, in the privacy of her own room, her mind conjured up images of Alicent's indigo eyes, glittering with malice. _How does a person hate someone so much as to want them dead? I did nothing to you._

In fact, before Aegon had been born, she'd tried to befriend Alicent. Maybe that was why she'd been brought here, so she could help avert the bloodiest civil war in Westerosi history, and make everything right, without ever fighting a single battle. Even once Aegon _had_ been born, and factions started forming, she tried to make peace. She'd tried so damn hard to be his doting older sister, Alicent's loving stepdaughter. But it had all been thrown in her face.

It was clear to her now. The reason she'd been brought back wasn't to make peace through placating the Greens. It was so she could use her knowledge of events to outmanoeuvre them, and put them in a position where they _couldn't_ fight back.

_Each of your children will sit a throne._

But what was the point of saving Westeros when it seemed more of the same would follow after her? Either her children would go the same way as Daeron the Good's and Aegon Dragonsbane's, dying and leaving the throne to their siblings, or they'd just re-enact the Dance upon her death.

_Why must Westeros be like_ _this?_

The only reason she'd watched Game of Thrones to begin with had been because it was popular. Her co-workers all liked it, and she saw people joking about it on Facebook. Well, that wasn't quite accurate. Fantasy stories had always been a weak spot for her, ever since she'd read the first Harry Potter book as a young child, only months after its release. But Game of Thrones was quite a bit darker than what she was used to. It was new experience. After watching the show, she'd read the book series, and gotten more and more into the universe itself.

_I still don't know how it ended. I never will._

By the time she was reading the books, it had been a bit of a morbid fixation. A world where things went wrong for no good reason, and people's lives were governed by random chance was so bizarre to her. People couldn't always win just by trying hard. Back in her old world, things hadn't really worked that way. You could manage, as long as you worked hard at it. There was always an opportunity, if you made it for yourself. Her own father had been a sales manager, not a politician or CEO, so she was hardly born with a silver spoon in her mouth.

And then it was all upturned, when she ate some dish at a party. She didn't even know the name of it, or its ingredients. A few seconds after she'd eaten it, she was taking large sips of her wine to try and get the itchy feeling out of her mouth. A minute after, her throat was tightening, and she could hardly breathe. And then it all went black.

_I'm almost the same age now as I was then._

It had been so fucking difficult to leave her old life behind. To start building a new one. And now she was wondering if it had even been worth it.

She'd started out playing the princess. Not having been an overly skilled actress, she'd made flubs here and there. Old Jaehaerys had gotten pretty suspicious of her before he died, and she was pretty sure Daemon had his own concerns. But she'd managed to deflect a lot of it, with lie after lie. Dragon dreams gave her strange knowledge. Reading a lot of books helped improve her vocabulary. She was just plain mature for her age. Viserys, at least, had been more than willing to buy any excuse she offered. Baelon was much the same.

Guilt bubbled in her, once again. In her old life, she'd had a mother, and a father. And so she'd spurned Aemma, for almost a decade. No, not spurned, but… neglected. Aemma had been so young. Alone in a court that hadn't cared one way or another about her. No mother or father of her own. And she'd ignored the woman, preferring to sulk over the mother she'd had before.

_"Rhaenyra, please, talk to me. Have I done something wrong?"_

_No. You did nothing wrong. I simply had no room in my heart for you._

But she'd found room in her heart for Baelon.

In her old life, she'd never known her maternal grandfather, outside of disjointed childhood memories that were too faded to recall in detail even before she'd been reborn. But she'd loved her paternal grandfather. He'd been a stodgy old bastard, terse and thick-bellied. Bright blond hair turning white ran up his thick arms and around his head, not unlike the hair she sported in her new life. She was thankful at least to lack his bald spot. He never said a kind word, but always smiled that quiet smile and snuck her a little wrapped hard candy when her parent's backs were turned.

Heart disease and age had whittled his face into a mass of wrinkles over the course of the years. They'd begged him to try to exercise, to eat smaller portions. But he'd always laugh, and tell them that he'd managed to keep his gut through the worst of the rationing, thank you, and he'd not be rid of it yet. He'd passed only a year before her.

" _Keep an eye on your da. Tried to teach him to be a man, but he's too damn soft. He needs you, now."_

Just another promise she couldn't keep.

Though he lacked the girth, Baelon had that same gold and silver hair. She couldn't help but think that, amidst all the misery of having her existence upturned, she was lucky to be given a second chance with her grandpapa. And she could save this one from whatever killed him the first go round. She was only three, but surely saying the right words at the right time could prevent him from going to his doom. Even if it were an illness, she could easily alert a Maester in a more timely manner.

When Baelon had complained of a pain in his side, she did just that. Tears, tantrums, shouting. Every weapon in her arsenal, she used it. And it was easy to call upon, as in her panic, she truly feared losing him. Her tears succeeded. The Maesters, and Baelon himself, capitulated, and he was examined.

But even if they could identity the problem, no Maester had a cure for a burst belly. She'd not managed to change anything. Another grandpapa killed by his gut.

She shifted in her bed, face against her pillow. The windows were shuttered, and the door closed, though she knew Ser Steffon stood outside.

How had she gone from playing the princess to _being_ the princess? Only the shock the witch had given her had managed to jar her enough to remember she wasn't truly the daughter of Viserys, and heir to the Iron Throne. She knew what her old name was, but it was strange in her mind. No longer her. Somewhere along the way, she'd become someone else. When had she cast aside the woman she used to be, and become Rhaenyra? Some day she'd awoken, stretched and yawned, and gone about her day, not knowing that she'd finally ceased to be that person she'd been before.

_A kind but deadly princess, hiding her true identity from the world._

Did that refer to Val, or another daughter, she wondered. Under what circumstances would a princess need to hide her true identiy? Quotes from the show and the books whispered in her mind. _A girl is no one. Your name is Alayne Stone._

_The sun emerges. Dawn is reflected by scales of metal. Jaws descend._

She would be eaten by Sunfyre. Just like Rhaenyra. _I_ am _Rhaenyra, now. Maybe I always was._

She'd had so many other questions, better questions. _How do I stop the White Walkers? How do I prevent the Dance of the Dragons?_ They'd all gone out of her mind when she'd heard that, though.

Val was a wilful brat. If her little thief wasn't lying through her teeth, she was scowling, or talking back to her. Val raised her blood pressure so much, she half-thought she'd suffer a heart attack before ever making it to the throne. The little demon was precocious, clever, overfond of pranks, and temperamental. And above all, her daughter. And she was going to abandon her. Just like Aemma had abandoned her. _Just like I abandoned Aemma._

And Vis. He cried so much more than Val had. He had lungs stronger than anything, and he'd grab at her fingers when he'd just been born. He was walking later than Val, but once he'd started walking, he was running almost immediately after. Even when he fell, he'd just laugh. He only really cried now if he was hungry or tired.

Vis' hair had just started to come in, silver like Laenor's. She sat by his crib at night, telling him stories from her old life as he gurgled and repeated nonsense words at her. They were halfway through the warped version of Goblet of Fire that she'd cobbled together from her memories, these days. She was missing his normal story time right now. _Will he know enough to miss me? Will he miss me later?_

If Sunfyre killed her, then Aegon probably won. All those important questions she'd had fell away, and she'd _needed_ to know if they would be alright. But the witch had said her children would _each_ sit a throne. _Please don't let them fight, I couldn't bear that._

The future was hardly clear, but parts of it made sense. Aegon would win. He would win, and kill her, and her children would be scattered like Ned Stark's. One would hide herself, and one would fight, courageous to the end. And the other… hopefully the royal blood dripping from their maw would be Aegon's.

She'd tried to be his sister. More so than she'd tried with little Baelon. _I never even went to see him._ _Was it the same callousness that prevented me from loving Aemma that stayed my feet? Or was it fear?_ _I knew he'd die that day._ She could see him now, crying in his crib, wondering where his mother and sister were, fat drops crawling like slugs over a splotchy face. In her mind, he looked like Vis. _Heir_ _for a day,_ _unloved and forgotten_ _._ _Was I callous, or afraid? I still don't know..._

So she'd tried. She'd even been excited to have a brother, and to make up for Baelon. He'd been so excitable himself. Vigorous and shouting and grinning, joy sparkling in his violet eyes as she took him for rides on Silverwing. But once Aegon was old enough to understand that he could be king if he rejected her, reject her he did. Her brother, her first living brother after nearly forty years of being an only child, turned on her. Alicent, the bitch, whispered in his ear the entire time.

Her eyes always sparkled with malice and hate, and _bitchi_ _ness_. Alicent's eyes were a bluer shade than Aegon's. But they were same eyes. The sparkle of her hate was the same as when his eyes had lit up. Maybe it was the same hate. _Maybe he always despised me._

If a daughter of hers would have to hide, she hoped it would be Val. She'd be good at it. _My own Arya._ _Not so tomboyish, but every bit as stubborn and rebellious. She'll make her way, I just know it. It's the others I must worry for._

Thoughts had whirled through her head like confetti in a hurricane when the witch told her Sunfyre would devour her. Would Aegon win, would he kill her children? Or was it some sort of... existential feedback? Was the witch simply seeing the future of the original Rhaenyra? Or was it all simply false? She'd seen the dancing shadows, heard the whispers in the fire. Magic was in the air that afternoon. But it was hardly proof of the witch's abilities. The books showed how Melisandre weaved deceptions. Perhaps the witch was cut from the same cloth, using illusions to reinforce her words.

But the validity of the prophecy was proven. The witch described three children, not two. Her hand moved down, beneath the covers, feeling the flat skin just underneath her gut.

_I'm late._

Why had she gone to that witch? She'd thought she might receive some sort of guidance, something to tell her if she was fulfilling the purpose she'd been brought to Westeros for. She wanted to know if she was on the right track.

 _Stupid. I should have known it would just make me question everything._ Was there a way for her to prevent it? She was genre-savvy enough to know that trying too hard to prevent could likely cause it to happen. If she went and killed Aegon now, that would just start a huge war, and someone else, like Aemond, could grab Sunfyre and kill her. If she did nothing, and let things play out, however, Aegon would absolutely kill her. _Damned if I do, and if I don't._

_Damn._


End file.
